Koan
by TaleCaster
Summary: Before going to face Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest Harry is intercepted by Death, who throws him back over 70 years. TMR era fic. Dark!Harry. Will be Slash.
1. Death Trap

**To get the warnings out of the way: This will be a dark story with a dark Harry and a dark Voldemort. You might have noticed that's how I like to write them. ;) The story will eventually be slash and Tom and Harry's relationship will be far from healthy, so if you have a problem with any of those things you should probably turn back now. xx**

 **I was asked to write a time-travel TMR era fic and this would be my take on one. I'm not yet certain whether I'll continue with it, but if I do it will be linear i.e. starting in 1926 after this chapter.**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoy! xx**

Charles shifted, hidden in the shadows of the forest. He'd waited for this moment for going on twenty years now and was itching to get it over with, though if he was honest with himself he did find the current scene pleasantly nostalgic.

He watched as Death appeared before Harry Potter and remembered that this had been much less amusing the first time around – over 70 years ago now… god, he felt old.

Harry stumbled back in shock, falling on his arse as the snitch and newly revealed resurrection stone fell from his hand. He'd come to the Forbidden Forest alone, resigned to die at the hands of the man who'd ruined his entire life; who'd orphaned him as a baby; who was responsible for taking one loved one after the next from him; who made his existence nothing more than a fight for survival. He'd had to endure each day of hurt with his own unique mix of hoping and coping. The coping was at an end though now, and he'd found some solace in that. He was afraid, of course he was afraid, but he'd accepted his fate.

And then this… creature, this demon appeared before him and his resolution flew out the door, leaving only crippling fear in its wake. There was nothing threatening about its form. It was taller than a man, but not by much. It wore plain black robes, though they seemed to merge with the shadows that flared and danced about it, as though a black abyss encompassed its being. The hood of its robes hung large over its face, leaving only a darkness that reminded Harry of oblivion. Even so, that wasn't what caused him to tremble like leaf.

Harry had been afraid before – he'd been terrified thinking he was about to die, or worse, many times in his short life. All of that paled into insignificance against the panic and dread he felt now. There was a miasma that crackled around them, and it held his very soul in a raw petrified state that transcended logic or reason.

He couldn't breathe.

"Relax, Harry Potter. I'm not here to harm you – at least not physically." If Harry could find it in his muscles to move, he might have shivered at the impossibly smooth voice that reached him like a far off violin on the wind.

A short silence followed and then Harry felt a faint amusement break through his terror, and suddenly he could think once more. He blinked.

"Wha-who are y-you?" He managed after floundering for a few moments.

"You know who I am. You know the story: A wand, a cloak and stone…" Harry's eyes widened comically.

"Death." He whispered in awe. "You're death? So the story is true?" His rising hope was dashed viciously by a cold laugh that jarred terribly with Death's voice.

"The thing I enjoy most about humans is your endless capacity for ignorance. You're an imaginative species. You fear the thunder, so you create a god to control it for you. You hide, cowering afraid in the dark whilst telling yourself stories to make you feel better. And when faced with the thing you most fear – when faced with death, you fool yourselves into thinking there is a way to control that too. 'Master of Death'" Death's awful laugh rang out once more, and this time Harry shivered.

"But you did create the Hallows. Why?" Harry hadn't made any move to get up yet – he didn't believe his legs would hold him.

"For my amusement." Death declared mercilessly. "Power, safety, grief; these things give humans such drive. It's been entertaining to watch you, one after the other, scrambling over each other, sacrificing everything in the pursuit of my little toys. And now finally someone has managed to collect all three, and I have the opportunity to reward your arrogance. Death can have no master. I am eternal and far beyond your narrow comprehension. I was born with the universe and one day I shall reap that too. I walk in endless deserts – each grain of sand a soul beneath my feet. And you, you are merely a grain that got stuck on my shoe."

With the strength that had kept him alive all these years, Harry stood – shakily, but upright felt like an achievement. "I, I wasn't the one who chased them down!"

"Oh, I know. Your puppet master has already learned the error of his ways. But it's you who now claims ownership of the Hallows." Harry wanted to defend himself, but he just couldn't force himself to challenge Death.

"Well… well then, are you here to kill me? What are you going to do?" His voice trembled. Death at the hands of Voldemort was one thing – a flash of green light and then darkness – but actually looking Death in the face was another matter altogether. He was going to throw up…

"Not at all." That confused the still trembling boy. He couldn't stop the shaking, it was something primal. "I thought of all I could do to you, but then I came to find you here – about to offer your life to an," Death paused and Harry felt that same amusement as before, "enemy, and now I know exactly how to correct your arrogance: I'm going to give you time."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "…What?"

"A second chance at life if you will. I will take the mind of one Harry James Potter – sans memories of course – and toss it into the reaches of the man you so despise. I'm curious to see how a vulnerable little unloved being will fair beside a young virtuoso of suffering and death such as Tom Riddle." Seeing his lack of comprehension, Death continued: "I'm going to place you at Riddle's side… seventy one years ago. I'll leave you at the mercy of your enemy, and if that doesn't entertain I'm sure the look on your face when I reveal the truth to you twenty years ago will." Harry could only imagine horror resulting from a life with young Voldemort: years of pain and misery beyond anything he'd experienced so far.

"I don't understand; if you send me back you'll change history. What if I cause the death of my grandad or something?" He rambled as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. Death laughed again and Harry had to take a moment for the constriction of his throat to ease enough to breathe.

"Such meagre capacity for comprehension you humans possess. The past has already played out. Everything you will do in your next seven decades has already happened." Harry placed a hand to his forehead, trying to quell the headache building from Death's constant switching of tenses. It was enough to make him crazy. "Now, I think it's time to say goodbye to Harry Potter – at least for a little while."

He looked up as he suddenly realised this was actually happening, that Death really was about to send him defenceless to Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, or whatever – it wasn't good!

"No, no, no wait, you can't do this. I don't want the Hallows…"

"I'll see you soon."

Harry felt himself falling as though from a mountain top. His last thought before the darkness took him was 'Death's a prick."

Charles watched his younger self disappear with a fond smile. He might have gone kicking and screaming, but Death's cruel joke turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. As he crouched low waiting for Death to leave, the trees, shrubbery and undergrowth that hid him died, dried up, and rapidly crumbled to dust, leaving him completely exposed.

"Won't you say 'hello', Harry?" Death called lightly. He took a deep breath and clenched his muscles for courage, before taking what he hoped appeared to be a casual stroll towards the dark immortal – a small sack clutched tightly in his fist. He'd come a long way from the frightened child he was the first time round, but couldn't kill the slight trembling of his hands.

"Death." He greeted, glad his voice stayed strong, while inside he was praying for the creature to leave. "Don't tell me you have more planned for me?"

"No, I've been here long enough, but I do hope you enjoyed your reward." It laughed. "All that's left is to return you to your rightful body." That brought Charles to attention – he hadn't been expecting that.

"No." He whispered harshly, before forcing himself to look into Deaths shadowed face. "You can't. I've been Charles much longer than I was Harry. This _is_ me." He despaired when Death shook its head.

"I can, and I will. You are both Harry and Charles now are you not: you are only one person, otherwise you wouldn't have protected those, what do you call them, mudblood and blood traitor friends of yours within the castle. And that is not your body. It is the body of a stillborn into which I shoved your lifeforce. Death cannot create life Harry, though I manipulate it quite well."

A freezing chill hit Charles, and just like that he was inches shorter and wore glasses, and there was nothing he could do to stop the change. He sighed in defeat.

"Tom rather disappointed me when it came to you, though I do wonder," Death spoke as though nothing had happened, although there was a slight malicious happiness to his voice, "what your little lord will make of your appearance now. It would be such a shame for you to have come through all this, only to be killed at the hands of your lover." Charles paled and felt his heart drop. Death was right: he'd waited to see Voldemort again for so long and now he'd probably throw an AK as soon as he saw him.

"Good luck." Death's voice was a whisper, and when Charles looked up he was gone.

Now alone in the moonlit clearing, he wondered what he should do… once his breathing returned to normal. If he stalled and didn't go to Voldemort now, he'd kill his old, old friends, and he'd already taken so many of them. Charles couldn't do that – he had to at least give them a choice. He owed them that much.

With that thought in mind he took determined steps to where his lover waited, while rapidly changing ideas of what the hell he was supposed to do flickered through his mind.

Taking one final deep breath, he walked out into the Dark wizard filled hollow. The smile that pulled at his lips couldn't be denied as his eyes fell upon the Dark Lord, and it took a surprising amount of strength not to run into his arms. It helped that he knew he would not get more than a few feet if he tried. V was still just as beautiful as ever. He remembered when the physical changes started to take effect on his love, and he remembered he'd never cared. Charles loved the soul of the man; loved him to his bones, and one look from those crimson eyes could reduce him to jelly in his hands, and what skilled hands they were… Charles shook his head – now was not the time for such thoughts… maybe they could get round to forging him a new body one day though, for he did miss those lips, and the fire burning in the middle of the clearing cast such romantic shadows in the moonlight…

Biting his tongue to force his focus back onto the problem at hand, Charles raised his hands a little. He didn't care about the tense, silent faces watching him, he stared straight at Voldemort. Nobody mattered but the two of them.

"My Lord…" Bellatrix started, but was swiftly silenced with a raise of her master's hand. Voldemort stared back at him with a similar intensity to his own, though for opposite reasons.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come." Charles' heart beat violently in his chest as V spoke to him for the first time in a long time. He let his wand fall from its holster to the floor and kicked it away, eager to make obvious he didn't want to fight. Slowly, and with his hands still in sight, clutching the white sack like his life depended on it – and it just might – he took a few more steps.

"HARRY! NO!" He turned to see the distraught face of Hagrid and gave him a gentle smile. The half-giant had been good to him, and he didn't want him to die if it could be helped.

"It's OK, Hagrid." He nodded to the half-giant, trying to reassure him, but of course that didn't work.

"NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH-?"

"QUIET!" Rowe shouted and Charles was grateful for the silencing spell the man cast on Hagrid. He didn't have the time or care to deal with him right now: Voldemort had raised his wand.

They locked eyes once more and he tried to convey all he needed to say and what he felt in his gaze, and the Dark Lord must have read some of it right, for his head cocked to the side in thought – as though he were pondering something.

Voldemort opened his mouth to speak, to no doubt cast the killing curse, and Charles' mouth flew into action without his permission.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" He cried quickly and all in one breath, while his hands rose higher in a gesture of peace. Voldemort continued to watch him, but had thankfully not finished the incantation. "I…" Suddenly he realised what he had to do to give him a chance to explain, and idly wondered if it would be better to just let V take him out. There was nothing for it though – the situation was simply too dangerous.

Gritting his teeth, he lowered himself to the ground. Merlin, this was so embarrassing! He was the Dark Lord's partner – his equal! V was never going to let him live this down… He kept his eyes up as he knelt, still trying to silently communicate his identity, but winced when he heard the indignant bite in his voice. "My Lord, wait, please." The others were going to assume that unwillingness came from the Harry Potter they knew, not the annoyance of the Dark Lord's lover. He itched to curse that smug, shocked or condescending look from their faces.

" _Your_ Lord?" Voldemort asked in cautious amusement. He wondered if the stress of being the Boy-Who-Lived had finally caught up with him.

"*Stop, V. It's _me._ It's Charles.*" He hissed in Parseltongue so the others couldn't hear, and sighed when those crimson eyes narrowed in quiet fury. Of course he wouldn't believe him after everything Voldemort and Harry Potter had done to each other. He'd only made things worse, because now Voldemort looked like he wanted to prolong Harry's death. "*It's me, I swear. I said I'd come back in twenty years and explain everything, well, I'm here.*"

"*Prove it!*" Relief washed over him when Voldemort finally responded. He'd got him talking – talking was good. He thought about all the memories he could recount, but then remembered all those memories Dumbledore had shown him at school and didn't want to risk angering him more by making him think the old man had been prying any further into their private lives. He had a better idea.

The surrounding wizards were growing increasingly curious about the secret conversation, but neither Voldemort nor Charles paid them any mind.

"*Look!*" He hissed, shaking the sack. "*Look inside, please, and you'll know the truth! Believe me, you don't want me to tip it out – best you look.*" The Dark Lord hesitated, wondering if this was some trick and whatever was in the bag would kill him as soon as he opened it. Thankfully curiosity won out.

The bag was levitated to Lady Malfoy. "Narcissa, tell me what's inside." He commanded, and she immediately took the sack to comply, though her face scrunched up in confusion when she saw the contents.

"My Lord, there's a cup, a book, a diadem, a necklace…"

"Hand it to me!" He hissed, almost slipping into Parseltongue, which caused a slight shudder of fear to ripple around those present as they wondered what was going on. Charles watched on with relief and more than a little amusement: he'd got V's attention now.

Voldemort could tell these where the real deal when he reached into the sack and ran a finger along the spine of his old diary. But none of this made any sense.

Seeing his confusion, Charles spoke up – this time with more confidence. "*See, who else would have run around protecting your soul all these years? Oh, in fact you should know that you have another! On Halloween 1981 you accidentally made me a Horcrux…*" He looked away and scoffed loudly, before shaking his head and standing, all the time wanting to kick himself - a lot. "*I should have opened with that.*" He admitted dryly. Merlin, he was an idiot – there was no way V would have fired an AK if there was even a slight chance Harry was a Horcrux! He looked up and smirked at the lost look on the fearsome Dark Lord's face: it was quite the picture.

All but Voldemort's wand had risen as Charles had, but he wasn't worried anymore. "*It's Me.*" He said again with a quiet sincerity. The man across from him looked down once more to the sack now tied and held tightly in his hand, and then back to Charles, a smile slowly stretched across his barely human face.

"*You have a lot of explaining to do.*"

"I know." Charles returned in English, which acted as a signal of some sort for the others to speak.

"My Lord…" McNair began, but as with Bella before he was cut off.

"Everyone… wait here." Ordered Voldemort, in a voice calmer than his followers had heard in a long time – too calm, some would say, for someone about to lead an army into battle. They couldn't know the battle was already won. He had almost told them to leave, but it would be a waste to pass up this opportunity to take Hogwarts. Ignoring their surprised looks he nodded at Harry/Charles to follow him into the forest beyond. It was time to find out what was going on, and Charles couldn't wait to tell V how his whole life was one big joke, starting with that damn prophecy: of course he was the one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord - to love someone is to give them the power to destroy you, and they loved each other deeply.


	2. Childhood

Wool's orphanage was a sorry sight, thought the social worker as she stepped through the imposing iron gates. Mary struggled to enforce the objectivity people in her profession were required to practice nowadays when she thought of leaving a defenceless child here. Children were a blessing, a grace of God; they were potential, warmth, love and joy, and Mary hated to leave another in this cold and heartless place. The babe snuggled softly in her arms was especially hard to part with, and her professional façade had almost cracked when she'd confronted his mother. She just felt so sorry for him. The doctor's reported the child had been still-born, but only minutes later a cry was heard. A miracle, they called it, but the mother didn't agree. She was sick with grief and shunned her baby – screaming that 'it' wasn't natural – that 'it' wasn't her child. Even after she'd had a few days to calm down the woman refused to so much as look at him, never mind hold him, and so Mary was called in to find alternative care for the unwanted little boy. She'd spoken to the mother, of course, pleaded that she give motherhood a chance, but the women was vile and in the end Mary was only too happy take the child away from her. But to leave him in a place like this? Even unwanted and unloved the boy was a happy baby and she hated to think about what a place like Wool's orphanage would do to him. She knew the statistics, knew the outcomes of children raised in care, and had to force herself to stay detached.

Mrs Cole greeted Mary with a defeated sigh. Only a week into 1927 and already she had another mouth to feed. She already had one new-born in her care, Tom, who was born on New Year's Eve. Apparently this one had been born the day after, and she couldn't help but think their birthdays suited them: the end and the beginning. Tom was quiet – too quiet in fact and it was altogether unnerving to have a young baby who never cried. And then there was this little one, who gurgled happily even as he was abandoned to her care.

Personalities aside, having babies in the orphanage was always a challenge. They needed attention that simply couldn't be spared, what with all their other charges, and she already had two to deal with before Tom came along. These things always came in cycles didn't they? Mrs Cole's resources were stretched, so she was thankful the new ones were so close in age – less than a day apart – for she could put them in together until Rachel – the eldest infant in her care – could be moved from the baby room. She placed the new arrival beside Tom in his crib, and the younger boy easily fell asleep against the other, seemingly happy to have such close contact after his first week of life in the harsh clinical hospital. She of course could never know how this simple act of practicality would change the world for ever; how the instinctive, subconscious process of new-born bonding was perhaps the only thing that could make Tom Riddle care in any way for another.

It was left to Mrs Cole to name the child, as even though both parents were to be named on the birth certificate, the mother had been insistent that he not bear theirs, that he was no part of her family. Many of the children had such awful, tragic stories, so it was always sad to have one who was simply unwanted.

They easily settled on Charles for his Christian name. It was popular and they thought he looked like a Charles, with his light dusting of blond hair and bright baby blues. They knew of course these features would likely darken with time, but for now the name fit quite well. For his surname various names were banded around and the girls had a great deal of fun trying them out, especial Jane and Maki, who were volunteering over the holidays. At first they played with simple names like Smith and Jones, but when they saw how good he and Tom were together they considered calling him Riddle – the boys would likely grow up like brothers anyway and the name suited the impossible miracle he was. However that would be highly unethical so in the end they went with something similar that would represent him a little better. And so a week and trip into town later, Mrs Cole registered the births of Tom Marvolo Riddle and Charles Koan.

Tom and Charles were inseparable, but the staff couldn't decide whether it was more for the betterment of Tom or the detriment of Charles. Tom's quiet manner was altogether disconcerting, but he did fuss whenever Charles was taken away for any length of time, which reassured them that there was nothing seriously wrong with him, and because of this the girls seemed to pander to his wishes to be near the other boy. After Charles was given his own cot Mrs Cole had to reprimand them repeatedly for placing the lighter babe in beside Tom during the night, and they were almost convincing in their denial of doing such a thing, but it's not like a baby could climb out of one cot and into another by itself now is it?

The boys stuck together as they grew. Charles would play with the other children and participate in group activities, but Tom was always somewhere nearby, watching, and eventually the younger boy would inevitably end up playing with Tom alone. The staff remained conflicted about whether their association was healthy or helpful. Martha reported how she'd seen Tom take Charles' juice from his hands to have for himself, but when Charles began to cry, he'd turned to take another child's and handed that to his friend: even for a baby the darker child showed a blatant disregard for the others, and so as Charles never appeared negatively affected by it, the staff clung to their closeness as hope Tom wouldn't grow to be a problem child. Tom's first word was 'mine' and Charles' 'Tom', but of course this was missed by the grown-ups.

Things changed a little when they were around fifteen months old. They could almost pinpoint the exact day Charles changed, and almost over-night gone was the happy, bouncy Charles and he became unhappy and needy – always wanting attention and reassurance. That was usually how the babies abandoned to their care were, as the staff of course didn't have time to provide all that a family would provide. It was around this time they embraced the strange relationship between their two youngest charges: Tom was increasingly possessive and Charles clung to the attention and pseudo-care he was happy to give him, so they stopped questioning why they spent so much time together or how they'd end up sleeping together each night, and they mostly turned a blind eye to the rare occasions Tom would upset his friend or become peevish towards him.

However they did start to take notice once the boys grew, and their behaviour increasingly affected the other children. At five it wasn't unusual to find the two covered in bruises from fighting with other, usually older children. Whenever Charles tried to play with them, Tom would intervene and ask his friend to go with him to do something else and the children, who'd already identified Tom as 'different' would respond with the type of cruelty and meanness children were so good at. The orphanage had seen an influx of children since the start of the recession – so many families couldn't afford children anymore and so the staff kept order and cleanliness by strict regiment and enforcement. Under the yolk of such harsh treatment, the children were more than happy to take out their frustrations on each other. Away from watching eyes fights were therefore common, and it took less than a year for Tom to realise such direct confrontation wasn't at all efficacious or practical.

And so he focused his efforts on Charles, which turned out to be a piece of cake. Charles was clingy and struggled with feelings of worthlessness and loneliness, so whenever Tom gave him attention, encouragement and praise, his friend lapped it up, which in turn made him all the more dependent on Tom. Whenever Charles displeased him, it would only take a hint of abandonment for him to change his errant behaviour. And when he was angry enough to hurt him, Charles never complained or tried to cant, although he would use it against Tom later. The only physical contact the orphans received from their carers was at the end of a cane, so Tom was Charles only source of comfort and affection. Tom wasn't affectionate by nature, but Charles could always get Tom to give him what he wanted with a flash of those big hazel eyes and a little reminder of Tom's declaration that they only had each other.

* * *

Charles hated going to church. It was boring, the seat made his bum numb, and he hated the way the vicar always wanted to talk to him about things he didn't understand – the man made him deeply uncomfortable. Tom noticed of course, because Tom noticed everything, but as much as it angered him there was nothing he could do.

Tom took Charles hand in a decidedly possessive gesture as they walked from the church with the other children, shooing two stray dogs that looked friendly enough that they might approach. There were a lot of abandoned dogs around – they seemed to be increasing every year the Great Depression stretched on and though things were starting to pick up, the average family was still trying to save every penny they could.

"'for god so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son…' what nonsense!" Tom scoffed, glaring at James – one of the other seven year old orphans as he walked by. "If god loves us so much he could at least provide cushions." Charles grinned at him. No one else he knew would dare say such a thing on the steps of a church.

"'Serve the Lord with all humility of mind, and with many tears, and temptations,' I'm disappointed in you Tom, our Lord is generous, but we must display the right attitude. I've taught you that much." The vicar appeared behind them, easing his starched collar with a pudgy finger while looking down on the boy with a disapproving frown.

"Of course Reverend." The dark child replied with a straight face and admirable sincerity and respect. The man smiled brightly, convinced he'd been heard and understood. Not wishing to converse any longer, Tom turned to look across the street. He watched as a middle aged man heaved bags of coal to the door of a house and wondered what the vicar would make of someone working on a Sunday, even though nowadays people had to take jobs where they could find them. Tom really hated the self-righteous hypocrisy of the church. And as much as he despised the cold, controlled life at the orphanage, he knew there was nothing better waiting out in the world for children with no one to care for them.

"Esther, I'd like a word with Charles, unless of course you're in a hurry?" Mrs Cole had just joined them, dragging Anthony Hughes along by his ear.

"Yes, yes, of course Reverend. He's not in any trouble is he?" She asked with a hard frown at the child in question. Charles gulped – he had almost fallen asleep against Tom during the sermon. He felt Tom's hand tighten painfully and suppressed a wince. He knew Tom like he knew himself, so he understood his friend was simply angry at the grownups, concerned Charles would be disciplined for something once they were home and annoyed with the old vicar.

"Nothing of the sort. Charles?" He stepped a little way away from the others and when Tom eventually released him, Charles followed.

Tom's eyes never left his friend, even as he absently heard Mrs Cole telling her staff to take the others back, and the sad whining of a nearby dog. He watched the man leaning over to speak with Charles, watched as he passed something to him and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he reached out to ruffled Charles dark blond hair – only Tom was allowed to do that. Mrs Cole saw nothing wrong with scene, but Tom was always insanely jealous of anyone even touching Charles. He glanced once to the noisy dog, and suddenly the scene changed entirely. The fox terrier, a usually friendly breed of dog, bounded down the street and jumped straight at the vicar, it jaws coming down on his arm and then calf, bringing the man to the floor before viciously attacking his face. The man screamed as he tried to get free, but by the amount of blood being thrown about, the dog was winning. Charles screamed as the attack began and ran quickly back to Tom, grabbing his arm desperately and pulling him along towards the orphanage, while those nearby ran to assist the vicar.

It was only some time later that Tom said a word in response to Charles' frantic cries. He stared at his own hands before finally looking up.

"I think I did that." He admitted quietly as his mind spun to find an explanation. Tom always knew he was different, that he was better than the other children, but now he had proof – he just didn't know what it meant.

He tried to make more animals do things with only his mind, but grew increasing frustrated as the months passed and nothing happened. Then one day in late August, while he and Charles were supposed to be sweeping out the yard, he discovered another strange ability. Charles generally did most of the work when it came to chores, and he didn't really mind, because he could always bring it up later to get something he wanted from Tom – even something as basic as sleeping in his bed, getting his own way even though he knew how much Tom liked his own space. He seemed more accepting than Tom that chores were simply something he was required to do and so got on with it, while his friend often found other things to occupy his time.

There was a cat sleeping in the shade of a tree just beyond the railings and Tom was trying to make it wake up, to jump up and down with his face screwed up in concentration. He'd been at it for over ten minutes when the feline suddenly rose into the air several centimetres before dropping back down to a rude awakening. Tom watched with wide eyes as it raised its hackles and hissed at the air, before he shuffled even closer to the railings to try again. Almost immediately, its hind legs started to lift up, but before he could do anything more it pushed forward on its front paws and quickly ran away.

He turned with a grin a little too wide for his friend's comfort and proceeded to tell him everything. He tried to prove it by lifting up Charles' broom, and though it took several attempts, he eventually succeeded and revelled in the amazement and praise his friend heaped upon him.

Within a few weeks, this new skill was perfected. It became easier and easier every time he used it – and through continued experimentation, he found that while it was still a struggle with inconsistent results, it was becoming easier to control animals too following this breakthrough.

Charles agreed that Tom was incredible – he'd thought so even before he got special powers, and he adored his friend. After years of sticking up for him, Charles was as isolated from the other residents as Tom was. The children would use their closeness to their advantage: harassing Charles to aggravate Tom or vice versa. Tom really despised this, because Charles was the only person in the world to which he felt any emotional attachment, and they made it feel like a weakness. But now Tom had a secret way to retaliate. The children started noticing that whenever they were mean to the two boys, they'd almost immediately have some sort of bad luck. It was little things at first – they'd trip and fall; their dinner plate would fall from their hands; or they'd get hit by a poorly thrown object, though no one ever admitted to being the thrower. By the time the next summer began, they all tended to stay away from Tom and Charles for the most part, even though they were now an even bigger target than before, because everyone knew there was something _odd_ about them.

Charles' first demonstration that he too had special powers came over a year after Tom's. There had been an outbreak of head lice at the orphanage, and even though Tom and Charles never had enough contact with anyone to become infested themselves, they were still subjected to delousing. Charles sat squirming in a chair while Rose scraped a comb harshly against his scalp without care. Once she was satisfied he was clean she pushed him forward to stand, but he lost his footing and fell. He spun to face her with a hateful glare and in a second every lock of hair fell from her head and hit the floor, still arranged in the same tight bun she always wore. Charles blinked repeatedly, struggling to understand what had happened, but once she opened her mouth to scream he took off faster than ever before. He wasn't propelled by fear, he was propelled by excitement: he had to tell Tom that he was special too!

Tom wasn't sure he believed him at first, but he knew Charles would never dare lie to him and so decided to give him a chance. If it turned out he was being lied to he would make Charles regret it. He wasn't above using his powers on his friend when he was displeased, though he was more tolerant with Charles than the others.

"It's only natural that you should be different too. I never would have befriended just anybody. It was meant to be. We're better than them Charles. And we will become great– we can show them just what worthless idiots they are!" Tom said, and Charles agreed completely.

After that the other children didn't stand a chance. Charles had always been a meek child, but suddenly he had confidence. He was still reliant, dependant on Tom, because he always had been, but wasn't afraid of the older children anymore, nor did he feel at all inferior to them. He couldn't control his powers the way Tom could – whether he'd be able to move things the way his friend taught him seemed to be down to luck alone, but his luck always came through when he most needed it.

And so the boys became braver. Tom was no longer content to simply be left alone, he wanted the others to know that he and Charles were better than them; he wanted the two of them to be feared.

Tom quickly became more assertive in using his powers.

One night whilst getting ready for bed, Charles was alone with the other boy's in their dormitory for a while. Tom returned from the bathroom to find his friend glaring at James – the two standing beside a torn book. It appeared the other boy had tried to take it. As Tom walked calmly over to Charles, James turned away and climbed into bed, trying to ignore the whispers behind him.

Soon enough the boys were all silenced and ordered to bed, and with the lights off it didn't take long for them to start drifting off.

Just as James lost his grip on consciousness he rolled violently to the side, and with a startled yelp he fell heavily onto the hard floor. The others boys were quick to laugh at their unfortunate friend, while Tom and Charles stayed as they were, hiding their smug smiles in the darkness.

The room stilled immediately when Mrs Roberts stormed in. "What's going on in here? Parkes, back into bed! Everyone get to sleep, or you'll have extra duties for a week!" And with that the door slammed shut, and she left the boys to do as told, but the silence only lasted a few minutes before James fell from his bed again. The resulting jeers were less enthused. The third time was met with annoyance; the forth, anger; and the fifth, threats. They all needed to sleep and if James got them in trouble with his fooling there'd be hell to pay. James persisted in his claims there was something pushing him out of bed and that somehow it was Riddle's fault, but no one believed him, so instead of earning himself a beating from his friends and punishment from Mrs Roberts, he grabbed the pillow and duvet from his bed and set about trying to sleep on the cold floor.

Satisfied the offending boy had been put in his place, Tom drifted off as well.

Everyone thought James was being an idiot, but when they eventually confronted Tom about it and the dark haired child just smiled in response they started listening. They started thinking about why on earth James would choose to sleep on the floor instead of in a comfortable bed. Allen confronted Tom before bed and that night he too found himself unable to stay in his bed. Allen was more vocal in his accusations than James had been and it was only after Mrs Roberts came in and gave them all extra kitchen duties the next day that he, like James before him, accepted he too would have to resign himself to sleeping on the floor.

* * *

Tom knew education was pivotal to his and Charles' future success and so forced his lazy little friend to study hard. He also knew that the easiest way to avoid getting into trouble at school was to give the teacher no reason to punish. The orphanage staff were thrilled to have such well-read, gifted students under their care, so when they were nine, the boys were allowed out into London by themselves – strictly for the purpose of visiting the library, though naturally the boys used this small freedom to expand their knowledge of the world in which they lived, and Tom was always mumbling something about world events that Charles neither knew nor cared about. Usually it had something to do with Germany, Italy or Japan. His latest concern was regarding Germany's remilitarization of the Rhineland.

Getting out of the orphanage was great. Even if it was only for a short time, it felt like freedom. Tom was an excellent thief and got sweets for Charles when he was obedient, which he generally was. Tom's mean side got uglier as he aged and he could be downright scary when he wanted to be. And it was during this time, when they were nine years old, that Tom discovered his favourite ability.

Mrs Lockley was a stern, austere woman who kept the children silent during class, unless they were reciting one thing or another, and was quick to rap knuckles if her standards weren't met. A great many of the children in her class learned all they knew through fear of failure. Tom and Charles were of course the exception to this and had not once been punished for falling short.

That was until the day Charles dared correct her on a miscalculation in maths. She accused him of speaking out of turn and back talking and ordered him to hold out his hand while she collected the cane from its place of prominence at the front of the classroom. Tom couldn't hide his burning hatred when the first blow pulled a loud whimper from his friend. Tom had made Charles make that noise before; he'd even broken his little finger once when Charles wouldn't stop his brave, but ultimately misguided attempts to tell him he was wrong in killing Billy's rabbit, but he worked hard, and forced Charles to work hard so that no one else ever had cause or want to lay a finger on what was his – Tom hated people touching his things. And so when she raised the cane for another swing Tom glared, imagining all the wonderfully terrible things he wanted to do to her – all the ways he wanted to make her suffer for damaging what was his.

And before the blow landed, Mrs Lockley collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain. Charles jumped up and stumbled out of his seat, running to Tom when he saw his proffered hand.

"No one can touch us now, Charles." Tom said as he watched the unfortunate woman writhe on the floor and absently ran a thumb over the red skin of Charles' welt. The younger boy looked at his friend and had to bury a grimace: Tom's eyes were alive with dark sinister happiness and malice. He knew Tom was speaking truth; that his friend would never let him be hurt again. He almost felt bad for anyone who would ever stand against Tom, but embraced this new development eagerly. With Tom by his side he was safe – even from the grownups.

Tom tested out his new ability again and again, usually on random people he saw in town or children at the orphange that annoyed him. It was difficult to use – much more so than any of his other powers – but the joy he felt when it worked was well worth the numerous failures. In such an uncertain world, where children like him were so vulnerable, he finally felt in control – in control of his own future, no longer a victim to the emotional whims of the adults, and completely in control of Charles. When an older boy – thirteen year old Jacob Walker – tried to grab hold of his friend's arm, he'd gotten a nasty surprise and pulled his hand back in shock at the terrible burning sensation he felt. It only took two more children to experience the same thing before word got round that Charles was a demon of some kind, whose skin was hot like the fires of hell, and after that no one would go anywhere near him.

Mrs Langley quit soon after the incident with Charles, and the new teacher Mrs Teak was much friendlier. She brought a snake in for nature studies. It talked. Tom stared with wide eyes for a while, before finally asking Charles if he could hear it too. Charles could only hear hissing and Tom wondered about that a lot during the next few days. He was stronger than Charles, he'd always known that, but this being able to talk to snakes thing felt significant. It wasn't something he had to work at, wasn't something Charles could learn – it was just a part of him.

When the boys turned ten they were given their own rooms. Only a handful of older residents were given their own rooms, but the staff were fed up with finding boys in Tom and Charles' dorm sleeping on the floor or rushing in after hearing screams only to find nothing out of the ordinary – they suspected the two outcasts of course, but never had any proof and so were more than happy to move them out when the time came. It was a blessing for Tom, who had long resented what he considered the indignity of having to share his private space with worthless beings that thrived on trivial matters and aimed for nothing more than mediocrity. Charles was less impressed with the new arrangement.

"You can't sleep in my room!" Tom said for what felt like the thousandth time. "There's only one bed and you're so messy. I finally have the opportunity for a little order and I won't have you ruining it." Charles eyes narrowed on his hateful friend.

"I am not messy! You're just selfish."

"Fine, I'm selfish, but you still can't stay." Charles marched across Tom's room before jumping onto his bed, disrupting the sheets before lying back.

"I'm not moving." Tom moved to stand beside him.

"Charles." He said, a clear warning reduced to one simple word. Charles rolled onto his side to face the wall, infuriating Tom in the process for he hated being dismissed. With a fling of his hand Charles was wrenched from the bed and landed with a surprised and pained yelp.

He cradled his hand to his chest. "Ow, Tom! You hurt my wrist!" He accused with venom.

"Charles, get out of my room." Tom wasn't moved. He was well used to Charles guilting him into doing what he wanted: a trip to the cinema, a game of cards, sweets – but he wasn't backing down on this, not now he finally had his privacy.

"Fine." Charles got up and dusted himself off, his supposedly injured wrist miraculously healed. "Fine, I'll go find someone else. I'm sure I can _convince_ James to let me stay with him." He turned to leave, while Tom silently seethed.

"You'll do no such thing!" Charles kept walking, but very slowly. "I mean it. I'll hurt you if you go anywhere near him!"

"That's fine." Charles bluffed. It wasn't fine at all. He knew Tom could really hurt him if he wanted to, but he also knew him well enough to know when to push and when to back down. "But you'll have to do it tomorrow because it's almost lights-out." He quickened his pace and made it several metres down the corridor before Tom called back to him.

"Alright." He ground out. "Just for tonight mind." Charles turned back with a grin. "Oh don't look so pleased with yourself. I'm only letting you stay so I can test your Latin."

"My Latin is fine." Charles scowled as he climbed into bed. "I don't know why you insist on learning the stupid language anyway. We don't learn it at school! You just like making me suffer."

"Yes." Tom smirked. "But it's taught in better schools, so we should learn it too. We shouldn't allow ourselves to be deprived just because we haven't any money."

"That's silly. What possible advantage could learning Latin give us?"

"It will show we are properly educated. Charles, we only have a handful of years left at school. What do you plan on doing when you're fourteen and we leave? Get a low paying apprenticeship? Join the military? I don't think so. We have to present ourselves well and manoeuvre into a position with potential. Now go on."

Charles rolled his eyes, but was quietly grateful that Tom was so thoughtful. Heavens knows where he'd end up if it weren't for Tom looking out for him. "Litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto…"

* * *

The boys' favourite time of year was the yearly outing. Tom would always manage to find snakes to talk to, which made Charles jealous and annoyed about being left out. So he'd do things sure to get his friend's attention, like inserting himself into group games. This often backfired: either Tom would get mad and make him sit beside him while he continued to ignore him in favour of a snake, or the other children, bolstered by the less strict change of environment, would turn on him. And this was why he found himself running from Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop while they threw stones and called him names like 'freak' and 'demon'.

Charles pushed himself to run harder, but then he felt a stone hit him and for a second the world disappeared. When he blinked repeatedly to clear his vision, he found himself perched precariously on a branch atop a tall tree. He shouted out and immediately grabbed a firm hold of the trunk. He watched the crowd gathering below and gulped when he saw Tom quickly making his way over. He looked mad.

"Charles. Get. Down. Now." He bit out, and Charles hastened to do so. He was confused about how he'd gotten so far up to begin with and afraid he wouldn't be able to get down, but he was a brave child and even braver when Tom was standing nearby, for he knew Tom wouldn't let him fall.

Tom was furious that Charles would dare put himself in danger. Mrs Cole was furious with Charles for causing trouble and tearing his shorts and socks. When Charles finally felt the grass beneath his feet he didn't know where to look – to his angry friend or his angry carer. Mrs Cole saved him from making a decision by taking his arm and dragging him away. He earned himself six good ones across the backside for his little 'stunt'.

When Charles was able to explain to Tom what had happened, Tom felt strangely proud of him, but also annoyed that Charles hadn't been able to handle a couple of pathetic children. In punishment he'd made Charles wait in the tent while he 'convinced' the two offending children to accompany him into a nearby cave. Maybe Charles was imagining things, but he thought he heard screams on the wind that afternoon. All he knew for sure was that Amy and Dennis were never the same after that trip.

* * *

Dumbledore couldn't shake the sense of unease as he walked along the rundown hallway of the orphanage. The child he'd just met – Tom Riddle – had set off all sorts of alarms in his mind. Even had he not heard the disturbing stories from Mrs Cole, it was clear the boy had something of a dark nature. His powers were incredibly well developed, and he had been using them to purposely frighten, punish and control. Tom was definitely someone to keep an eye on – if only to ensure the well-being of his other students.

"Professor?" He was torn from his thoughts, when the boy in question chased him down the hall.

"Yes, Tom?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. There was no longer any trace of the boy's burning excitement. Now he was faced with a perfectly polite child.

"What about Charles?" Seeing the man's confusion, he continued. "Charles Koan – he can do magic too." Dumbledore gave an indulgent smile, and Tom fought to hide his annoyance. The man clearly didn't believe him. "He's my age – shouldn't he get a place at your school?"

Dumbledore had seen this before: muggleborns claiming their friends or siblings were magical too and that they should be able to come with them.

"I'm afraid there is no other child in this home capable of magic. The name of every magical child in Britain is registered in Hogwarts' records." Tom stepped closer and spoke again in that commanding tone.

"Charles has magic – he can prove it." Letting out a breath to quickly compose himself, Tom tried again. "Please, sir. At least meet with him."

Dumbledore sighed but agreed to go along with his new student, mostly because he was somewhat relieved to see the child show care and concern for another.

They reached a door not far from Tom's and went straight in without knocking.

"Tom?" The new child asked as he warily eyed the eccentrically dressed stranger.

Albus looked down at the child sat on the floor with various books around him. His dark blonde hair was cut in the same style as Tom's, and yet was less tamed and gave him more of a carefree look.

"Charles, this is professor Dumbledore. He teaches at a school for people like us – people who can do magic." The man watched Charles eyes widen, and against his better judgement held out his hand in greeting. He would need to handle this delicately. It didn't slip his notice that the younger looking boy first looked to his friend before getting up to take his hand – almost like he was looking for permission of some kind and his unease about Tom grew. Maybe it would be a good thing to split these two up – at least for this Charles.

"It's nice to meet you, sir." Before Charles could ask any questions, Tom took over.

"Charles can make things move too. He made Mrs Jones hair fall out and last summer he disappeared and reappeared the next moment atop a tree!" He explained calmly. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. This wasn't usually how these things went: children normally claimed their friends could do the same things they could do, but Tom was claiming he could do different, yet completely plausible magic.

For the sake of being thorough, he took out his wand and cast a revealing spell at Charles. His own eyes widened when it lit up to reveal that he was indeed magical. Albus had never come across a situation like this before. According to Hogwarts' records – that were never wrong – this child didn't exist.

He left half an hour later, after gleaning the important details about his newly found student and handing him his own purse of coins.

He would definitely have to keep an eye on these boys.

* * *

 **I wanted to get their childhood out of the way in one go - otherwise I'd probably spend the next 30 chapters on it haha. Maybe I should have? I did warn their relationship would not be healthy, but it will get a little better eventually.**

 **Further chapters will be shorter and more 'show' than 'tell'.**

 **xx**


	3. A Greater World

"I'm going to get a refill." Charles declared, though he hadn't made a move to do so. He was looking across the small table to his friend.

"Be quiet, Charles." Came Tom's dismissive response as he turned a page in the large book before him, never once looking up. Charles wasn't deterred though, and huffed in annoyance. He stood, planning to make Tom hand over a few of those strange wizard coins so he could get his drink. "Sit down." Tom dashed his plans in the same bored manner before Charles could say anything more.

Glowering, Charles slammed Tom's book closed spitefully before retaking his seat, leaving the other boy to try to find his page – literally, as many leaves flew from the spine that was barely holding itself together. It was petty, but well worth it to see that annoyed look on Tom's face.

The boys were sitting outside Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour for the third day in a row. Day after day they had made their way to Diagon Alley, bought the cheapest thing they could from the store, and spent several hours reading through their newly acquired books. The first day had been brilliant: both children were awed by the incredible things that appeared to be so common place here. It was like a dream, a world apart from the dreary monotonous life at the orphanage. Tom had been right in saying they were different, better, than the other residents, but Charles could never have imagined to what extent! As soon as they stepped foot in the alley Charles had first looked to Tom. He was excited, but also a little afraid of this new unknown, and wanted Tom to reassure that everything would be ok. Tom's eyes however had ignited with such desire and greed when they fell upon the people, the stores, the… the magic that filled the air, that the younger boy had to turn away. Best not to get in Tom's way when he had that look.

They spent hours that first day just exploring the alley, or at least Charles did. Tom was taking a decidedly studious approach, analysing everything his eyes fell upon, but all the while he was insistent they couldn't buy anything but the small handful of books he decided were necessary for background reading. The books they bought were the cheapest they could find from a second hand store, and were in such disrepair that many were missing entire chapters. Many of the books were actually so degraded that the shopkeeper had simply given them to the boys for free. Maybe it was an act of pity, or maybe it was another example of the effect Tom's charming demeanour had on people, much like the way the owner of Fortescue's had given the adorable but obviously indigent boys a free ice-cream that first day, and had never tried to move them on from the much prized outdoor seating, even though they had only ordered a cheap drink these last two days. None of the books they currently had were on the required reading list, but Tom thought it prudent to have a good understanding of their new world, which was also the reason they were here yet again, sweating under the fire of the summer sun. Charles shifted subtly, lifting his foot to stealthily push down one of his socks, before trying to do likewise with the other.

"Pull yourself together, Charles." Tom sighed, having again not even looked up from his book. "We don't want to give the impression we're street urchins now do we?" Charles rolled his eyes and wanted to argue that they basically were, but the sun was tiring, and he thought better of it, instead simply leaning down to pull up his sock and then rereading the same paragraph he must have read a dozen times now, but still wasn't going in. How could Tom sit there and look so unaffected while speed reading through his second tome of the day in this torturous heat, all the while carefully watching the people go by?

Tom was ready to learn all he could, and take full advantage of everything this world of magic had to offer, but Charles was apprehensive about leaving London. His little friend was content with the way things were – he was more comfortable with them being the powerful ones in a sea of _muggles_ (Tom loved that word – it somehow well encapsulated their abhorrent inferiority), and didn't like the idea that he and Tom would now just be two more magical children in a sea of magical children, and in a world filled with stronger adults. Charles felt like they'd lost their power, and were vulnerable again. Tom didn't see it that way. He saw a world of opportunities, a world where he could become stronger still. In the short term they would be weak, but they could learn to do everything those older wizards could do and then they would be more powerful than anyone, in both the muggle and magical worlds. They would be where they were always meant to be: At the top, looking down on all the weak and lesser beings around them.

In the meantime though, Tom wouldn't have them going to Hogwarts blind. He watched and listened to how these people acted and spoke. They would have to know what they were dealing with when it came to their fellow students and wizarding culture. From what he'd read so far, their birth and upbringing would place them at a severe disadvantage in befriending the right sort of children, but he could overcome that. He'd also read that it wasn't normal for anyone, child or adult, to do the things he could do. Hopefully he could use that to his advantage. Regardless, there was no doubt in his mind he could surpass them all.

"Woah! Tom, did you know we're at this school until we're _eighteen_?!"

"You haven't even made it past the first chapter, have you?" Tom replied, unimpressed with the information Charles should have read an hour ago. "Did you know there's a spell that can make it feel like a person's blood in boiling in their veins? Sounds painful." The seemingly random statement was all the threat Charles needed to get back to reading, but he did notice, much to his annoyance, that _again_ Tom wasn't looking at him as he spoke. He was carefully observing a group of three boys making their way towards the bank. Even from this short distance, Tom could tell they came from wealth. They didn't mind those around them, or care as they laughed with each other. One dark haired boy shoved who must surely have been his younger brother so hard he stumbled several steps ahead. Their clothing was impeccable. The eldest couldn't have been more than fifteen, so they must have had money of their own, a trust fund or something, if they were going to the bank.

Tom's lip pulled into a slight sneer as he watched such well-bred children acting with such a lack of decorum, but still, these were the type of people he could use.

When the last week of summer finally came around, Tom was confident he knew what to expect at Hogwarts, and finally allowed the two of them to purchase their school things. Given the condition of the items they could afford, even the greatest oaf would be able to see they had no money, but having something was better than nothing. Their uniforms looked worn, but the boys had re-dyed their outer robes black, so the wear and tear wouldn't be so obvious. Charles wouldn't have bothered if left to his own devices, because the state of their other belongings easy gave them away, but he knew it was important to Tom to always present himself well – that he believed them to be and deserve better than the meagre rags they owned. Charles had offered to acquire even poorer items in order to save money for Tom to get clothes of a better quality – Tom shut down that _ridiculous_ idea quickly. The thought of having decent clothes to wear to school appealed to his vanity, but that same vanity wouldn't allow him to be so close to someone who looked like a beggar.

After the depressing experience of trying to make their money go as far as possible in purchasing their school things, they entered the wand makers, and both boys could taste the magic and anticipation in the air. Without even thinking about it, Charles naturally stepped back in order for Tom to be served first, and as soon as the long stick of yew was placed in Tom's hand, he knew something incredible was happening, or would happen. Tom dragged in a breath as he tried to keep his reaction in check. It wasn't just the physical sensation he experienced as he held the deceptively fragile piece of wood, it was the knowledge that he held _power_ in his grasp, that this wood would give him access to all he wondrous things he'd read about. This wand would enable him to become the most powerful man in the world.

Charles' own wand was more difficult to find. Having assessed the two boys, Ollivander was convinced Charles would be receiving the brother wand of Tom's, and his shock when this was not the case was clearly displayed on his aged face. Tom also thought this would have been fitting, and Charles didn't like the way he frowned when the holly wand gave no reaction at all to being held. He hoped Tom never found out who that wand did go to! Still, undeterred the old man continued bringing out box after box, until Tom finally broke the silence:

"Sir, is it possible for a wizard to never find a suitable wand?" He asked, ignoring his friend's frightened gasp. His left hand was absently playing with his own wand. He was somewhat reluctant to put it away.

"No, no, not at all. A wizard can wield many wands, but his first is usually most befitting his…" Suddenly Ollivander's mouth snapped shut, and he turned to give Charles the most uncomfortably penetrating look. Charles shifted as he waited for the wand maker to continue with either his sentence or his work, though when he did he wished he hadn't. "There's something… young man, there are…" The man seemed to be having trouble finding the right words: "There are pieces, I think, of you missing. Yes."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" Tom bit out in a hard tone that unnerved Charles more than Ollivander's accusation. After all, scary words were just words, but that tone meant Tom was displeased, and that was something to really be afraid of.

The question managed to snap Ollivander out of his trance, and he turned back to his wands: "Forgive the ramblings of an old man. Worry not, we'll find your friend a wand." He reassured, but kept to himself that he believed whatever Charles found would not be his true wand. He'd never come across anyone like this boy – there was something wrong with him.

At length, he finally handed over an acceptable wand. "Spruce, thirteen inches, dragon heartstring core. Surprisingly swishy, flexible. Yes, that wand will serve you well." Well enough, anyway.

Charles only half listened as he enjoyed the surge, the rush he felt holding this flimsy piece of wood. Tom had tried to describe the feeling of magic he experienced over the last few years, but this was the first time Charles felt it, and it reinforced his understanding of just how much better he was from the muggles he'd known all his life. They would never know this feeling, this power. However, there was something else too: as he thoughtlessly followed Tom back out into the street, he stared down at the wood with the strangest sense of déjà vu he'd ever felt.

Charles was more than ready to head home, and so was relieved when they finally made their way out of the alley for the last time before school started. Tom had yet to put his wand away, and was making various flicks and swishes as he practiced the movements necessary for the spells he'd be learning this year.

"What do you think that man meant?" Charles asked with a frown, finally thinking back to what the wand maker had told him, as they entered the Leaky Cauldron's beer garden. He certainly didn't feel like there was anything missing in him.

"Nothing. He's obviously feeble minded – don't give it any thought." His friend dismissed easily. Charles definitely had his faults, but no one in their right mind could say there was anything _wrong_ with him – Tom wouldn't have kept him around all these years if there was. Perhaps the man was simply making excuses for his own incompetence.

Tom opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron, but before he could enter the pub he was shoved aside by an older boy with mousy brown hair and deep blue robes, who walked past them, uncaring, with his blonde haired girlfriend. When the boy started muttering disparagingly about getting too close to the 'filth', Tom's arm shot up before Charles could even think to stop him, or rather, to try to.

" _Wingardium Leviosa."_ Tom whispered harshly, his eyes reflecting an excited and expectant curiosity. Instantly, the blue robes that had been shot at lifted into the air, dragging up the shocked and confused boy up with them. As Tom lifted him higher and a little back, over the heads of a few laughing patrons, Charles' panicked eyes were wide with worry. The boy's face was growing red – whether it was from anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell. Charles' eyes darted about; trying to assess which adult would be the first to see Tom. Thankfully, the pub was busy enough in itself, and was futher filled by the heavy foot traffic that used the pub to enter or exit Diagon Alley. Hidden within such a crowd, nobody saw the small boys standing at the back.

Tom knew this, and so wasn't too concerned. He was well aware that most people only laughed at others' misfortune, and besides it was harmless: the adults would assume the disturbance was merely some childish prank. Charles liked to tell him his foul temper would get him into trouble one day, but Tom liked to think he was smart enough to consider his actions, even in the heat of the moment.

The pleasure he felt from successfully casting his first spell (on his first try, he thought to himself smugly), eased the anger the offending boy had invoked. However it only completely faded after seeing the boy swinging about in mid-air, flinging his wand around as he tried to find the cause of his humiliation, before dropping it in his haste, and then falling loose from his robes to land with a hard thud. There was a quiet crunching sound which preceded cries of concern and offers of assistance from those nearby. Tom couldn't see what had happened from where he stood, but he hoped the boy had broken something. Unfortunately, he knew broken bones could be easily mended with magic. Perhaps there was a way of stunting the effects of healing magic…

"Tom!" Charles interrupted his thoughts with a harsh whisper. "We need to go!"

With a dark smile, he released his hold on the robes and turned to his friend, scoffing at the wide eyed worry he found staring back at him.

"Don't be dense, Charles." He said. He didn't need to explain what he meant by that, for Charles could read it all in his face. The derision for Charles' concern, the scorn for Charles assuming Tom was being impulsive, and the mild annoyance for Charles thinking he knew better than him. "Come on."

And so the two unassuming boys made a casual exit, leaving the young noble to the attention of those left behind.

* * *

"You're dropping your wrist again." Tom snapped, marching over to correct Charles' grip. He held his friend's hand in his to manipulate the correct movements – a reminder of the demonstration he'd already given twice.

"I'm dropping my wrist because it hurts!" Charles snapped back in an equally foul mood. Tom was making him practise the wand movements from _Standard Book of Spells, Grade One._ He made him do the same stupid motions hundreds of times in a row.

"Good. Rather you hurt now than when you really need it. It only hurts because you're not used to using those muscles in this way." Tom told him callously, while be went back to sit on his bed and resume mending a small tear in Charles' trousers. He might have made Charles do it, if not for the knowledge it would look ten times worse if his friend went anywhere near it with a needle and thread. "It's called muscle memory. If you make the effort now, you won't even have to think about it when you use the spell in the future." Even Tom, to whom magic came so effortlessly, had spent a few hours practicing. It must have worked too, because his hand trembled ever so slightly as he worked to make his patch-up as seamless as possible.

With a string of hateful comments spewing quietly from his mouth, Charles continued swinging his wand around in the same stupid patterns that, though he hated to admit it, were becoming easier with each repetition. He didn't really have to think about the specific mechanics of what his hand was doing anymore.

He hoped his aching muscles recovered before school started in a few days, otherwise he'd struggle to hold his pen, never mind his wand!

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading. Hopefully it won't take me quite so long to update next time!**

 **xx**


	4. Social Cues

Charles had had to ask for direction in how to get onto Platform 9 , after Tom decided it wasn't a good idea to run at a wall without knowing the trick, and Tom was clearly annoyed by what he deemed a failure on his part in not thinking ahead.

Nevertheless, they were soon on the Hogwarts Express, having ducked unseen through the throngs of family farewells and friendly reunions. The whole time Tom never let go of Charles' hand, not while they stored their belongings and not while they struggled to push though the bigger students that crowded the train's gangway. Eventually though, they found an empty table and he nudged Charles to slide in to sit beside the window, before sitting next to him. He didn't feel completely comfortable with the crowded train – he'd read that Hogwarts was the only wizarding school in the British Isles, but still, there were far more students than he'd imagined. To his bitter disappointment however, so many of them were just like the children in the orphanage: loud and messy and silly. They should have been better than the muggles!

"Tom!" Charles snapped at him. It was only then he realised he'd been gripping his friend too tightly, and allowed Charles to snatch away his hand. Charles sighed – he felt more apprehensive about going to Hogwarts then Tom, but not with regard to the other children. He couldn't wait to make wizard friends. "Do you want to play Rummy?" He tried in an attempt to distract Tom from people watching, because in such close quarters someone was sure to notice!

"No." Tom said, still watching everyone settling into their seats.

"We might as well; it's going to take forever to get to Scotland." Tom turned to face him, but before he could object Charles continued, "And we are not studying the whole way there!"

Tom's eyes narrowed as they flicked to the thinning crowds – they would be leaving soon – and then back to Charles. "Okay." And so Charles pulled out his set of worn and frayed cards and started to shuffle.

Before he had a chance to deal, the train whistle rang out and the engine pulled away. Excitement and nerves fought for dominance in his chest, but in the end he looked up at Tom and smiled, and Tom smiled back with one of those genuine smiles that were meant for only Charles. They were free. They were free and they both felt lighter somehow. No more muggles. No more matron and carers. No more dirty, smoky London streets.

Tom knew they would have to make friends, but he still couldn't help feeling annoyed that they were intruded upon so soon after departure. Or maybe it was just the attitude of the intruders. He heard the girls before he saw them:

"Oh, sweet Salazar, Flic, look at these two!" Both boys' heads snapped up to look at the four girls now surrounding their table. Two of them slid into the opposite seats. "They're so adorable!"

"Can we help you?" Tom asked, causing Charles to look at him cautiously: as usual Tom's voice was soft, almost shy, but Charles knew not to trust it. Tom wouldn't appreciate these strange girls cooing at them.

The girls were much older – sixth or seventh year maybe. "Well, actually we were just looking for a place –"

"Oh never mind that 'Quila. Where are you boys from?" The very pretty blonde siting opposite Charles asked. She was dressed in Slytherin green and wore a prefect badge, and she was grinning like she'd just found a shiny new toy.

"We're from London. My name in Tom Riddle, and this is Charles Koan. If you need the table, I'm sure Charles and I could squeeze in elsewhere." Charles' mouth dropped open. What was his friend up to?

"Aww, aren't you sweet. But don't be silly, we'll just move someone else. It's not a problem."

"Let's go do that then." The girl identified as 'Quila suggested in a bored, yet put out manner. She also wore Slytherin colours, but was almost a negative image of the blonde. Where the pleasant girl had a healthy complexion and sun kissed golden locks, Quila seemed to have missed summer and her hair was blue-black and a little wild. The kohl around her eyes was thick and her eyeshadow heavy, and she regarded the boys with perfect disinterest.

"Hush you." The blonde chided her friend, though she had such a light friendly way about her that it sounded more like a compliment. "I'm Felicity Carmichael. Miss Morose over there is Aquila Black, and these are Bathilda Burke and Laura Coben. And we know _everybody_ at Hogwarts." Bathilda had brown hair and brown eyes, and compared to the others she seemed plain, although there was classic beauty about her. Laura had sharp, bright green eyes that Charles imagined could cut a person down to size with a just a look. Bathilda and Laura were in Ravenclaw.

"What year are you in?" Charles asked, trying to ignore the weight of Tom watching him like a hawk as he spoke – he always did that, like he was trying to figure out what Charles was going to say before he said it.

"Year six, but we already know-"

"I've never met a Riddle or a Koan before." Bathilda spoke this time, cutting off Felicity with quite vicious derision toward the boys.

Tom gave a barely audible sigh. He'd been hoping someone might recognise his name, but if these girls – who were clearly socialites in the making – didn't know of his family, he doubted anyone else would. "There's no reason you should have. Charles and I are orphans, and until now we've lived among _muggles_."

A gushing of over the top sympathy poured from Felicity and Laura, but Black still wasn't interested, and Burke wasn't moved:

"More mudbloods then. Typical. Hogwarts is a disgrace." Charles flinched, knowing how mad Tom was going to be to have been tarred with that slur, but his friend gave no reaction.

"Don't be mean, Hilda." Felicity leaned forward on the table, smiling strangely at Tom. "I have a feeling about these two."

"Hey Flic, if these are orphans they'll need help finding their feet." Laura's condescending tone grated on both boys far more than Burke's disgust.

"You're right!" Flic sounded as friendly as ever, but Tom and Charles were starting to feel like a special project. Charles opened his mouth to kindly decline their help, but caught sight of Tom's tiny headshake – he wanted to see where this was going. "'Quila and Laura have brothers starting this year. I bet they would be thrilled to help their less fortunate peers."

"I'll bet." Aquila intoned.

"You're such a great prefect, Flic." Laura stood and came for Tom eagerly. "Let us introduce you." She took his wrist gently in an effort to encourage his cooperation, but the muscles beneath her hand froze, and suddenly she felt uncomfortable enough to release him. "Come on." Her enthusiasm had dimmed, but she couldn't tell why.

Tom and Charles looked at each other, before Tom nodded and slid out. He didn't think getting on the wrong side of these girls on the first day was a good idea. Besides he knew Black and Burke to be respectable names, and they were providing introduction to well-bred children their own age, so he would play 'charity case' for now.

Charles quickly gathered up the cards and followed Tom, cringing as he heard two of the girls whispering about what amazing philanthropists they were.

They only moved down one car, but still Charles only caught the tale-end of Laura's introduction.

"-poor things, and if you can't play nice I'll be sure to tell mother about what really happened with those exploding copper pots! You know she'll send you to Durmstrang if she finds out!"

"You wouldn't dare!" A first year with mousy brown, curly hair glared at his sister. His face was softer, but he had her piercing gaze.

"Try me, maggot." She returned with a nasty smirk, before giving Tom and Charles another 'aww' and going back to the table the girls had, by happy fortune, cleared for themselves.

After a quick glance around, Tom looked down at the angry boy and something in his eyes darkened. This entire carriage was full of first years, but they all seemed very familiar with one another already.

"Well," Tom spoke, gaining the attention of Coben and a few others. "That was unpleasant." Several snickers met his words, and everyone lightened up a bit.

"Sorry you had to deal with the Great Hags of Hogwarts." Coben quirked his lip. "You might as well sit down." The lone black-haired figure opposite him scowled and moved across the aisle to the next table, leaving space for the boys to slide in – Charles by the window again.

"They really weren't too –"

"They did seem rather vacuous." Tom's voice was softer than Charles, but he easily spoke over him somehow, promoting the snickers to quiet laughter.

"You don't know the half of it! They are an absolute nightmare. I hear between them and the Blacks they run the whole school." Coben leaned on his hand miserably. "It's going to be dreadful."

"You say that now, but how many times has Laura hexed someone for teasing you? Anyone related to one of the Hags is untouchable." Another boy from across the aisle spoke up. He had spiky brown hair, and even in his seated position Tom could tell he was tall.

"I'd still rather she wasn't here! I'm Claude, by the way." Coben said, turning back to Tom. "And that is Winston Parker, Altair Black, Alphege Fitzwilliam, and Cyrille Lestrange."

"Tom Riddle and Charles Koan." Tom said.

"Koan?" The one introduced as Altair Black – the one who had fled to avoid the indignity of sitting with them – spoke up as he stood to sneer at the boys. "Unusual name. Laura said you were muggle orphans. And worse, second hand robes, you're muggle tramps."

Charles heart started to hammer in his chest at the suddenly confrontational tone. Tom was going to make a scene, and he couldn't decide whether he wanted him to or not. He wanted Black to shut up, but Tom's methods could be…

"We're orphans." Tom clarified calmly. He could feel Charles' worry, and took his hand to reassure him before he didn't something stupid like open his mouth. He hadn't planned on trying to befriend anyone until he'd proven himself at school, so now he was just trying to roll with this, but he was only eleven and didn't know exactly what to do. He did know that if the Blacks ran the school as Coben had claimed, he couldn't afford to make an enemy with the youngest one. That said it was not in Tom's nature to submit either, so he'd just have to see where it went. "Koan is a made up name, Riddle was my father's name, but neither of us has any clue to our parentage." He looked up into Black's slate-grey eyes steadily, making clear he wasn't intimidated by the height difference. "I'm inclined to believe we come from wizard blood."

"Well, of course you are. Nobody _wants_ to be a mudblood!" Altair sneered, looking at Tom like he was a mangy animal. It was enough to make up Charles' mind. He stood.

"Shut up, Black!" He shouted, annoyed at being blocked in.

"Hit a nerve, did I? I suppose it's only natural for savages to get upset." The boys behind Black started to sneer as well, and knowing this would spread and become a playground mob situation if he did nothing, Tom clenched his teeth, took a deep breath and stood to look at Black eye to eye.

Charles was about to shout back when Tom stood to block his view, and the hand still clasping his began to burn – Tom was mad at him, and that knowledge cooled his fury. He was always the one trying to manage Tom's temper, but thirty minutes into their new wizarding life and he was flying of the handle. He just hated the way Black looked down on Tom, and that Tom did nothing about it. The pain in his hand made him wince, but he did nothing to draw attention.

Tom released Charles and stepped forward. "He's not upset," He clarified calmly, though his eyes had sharpened, "He's affronted. You shouldn't impugn someone when you have no more knowledge than they do."

"And you shouldn't deny logic – you were found in a muggle orphanage, obviously in muggle rags; chances are your parents were muggles! It's so pathetic you'd try to pretend otherwise."

Tom saw a light in Black's eyes that told him he wasn't going to back down, that he was excited, that he wanted a fight.

"Merlin, Black, leave the kid alone." Fitzwilliam sighed heavily. The Black family was merciless when it came to blood purity, and apparently even orphans weren't off limits.

A light blush of pink dusted Tom's cheeks – a small, visible sign of his anger. "It's logic that leads me to conclude we have magical heritage. Charles and I are far too powerful to have come from _muggles._ And judging by your lack of wit, I'd wager we performed more magic before even learning of Hogwarts than you will before you graduate.

There was a collective 'ooh' throughout the train car. Everyone was watching now.

Black's eyes burned as he pulled out his wand. "How about we test that; let's have a duel!" All the boys on the closest tables broke out in whispers, though there were a few shouts of encouragement for their friend. Tom didn't move.

"With spells I've yet to learn? How dim are you? Weren't we just discussing how I was raised by muggles?" Tom's condescending tone only riled Black up more, so he scoffed nastily and was about to reply when Riddle's previously soft tone suddenly became razor sharp. "No." And Black snapped his mouth shut, a little off balance with the sudden change. There was gravitas to Riddle's words now. "No, let's duel without wands." Tom stared Black down easily, though the other boy frowned, clearly not even understanding. "Surely a scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black doesn't need a wand to perform simple spells?" Tom had no idea what sort of wand magic was taught or not taught within wizard families – he could only imagine he would lose miserably to a child of a powerful family like Black's, which was why he'd wanted to delay any confrontation until he'd had a chance to see what the other children were capable of and they'd had a chance to see what he was capable of – but he knew wandless magic was rare.

Charles wondered at what point he should intervene. It wouldn't do to get into the kind of trouble they were courting if Tom hurt this boy in front of all his friends, but then again he really wouldn't mind Tom hurting this horrible boy. Claude was just watching on as curiously as everyone else, and showing no desire to help one way or the other.

"You expect me to believe you know wandless magic? Accidentally making your baby bottle explode doesn't count, you know?" Black snarked, but Tom didn't rise to it.

"Are you declining?" He had to consciously fight to keep the smirk off his face, because he'd learned through painful experience that laughing in people's faces, or attacking their pride when they're on the brink of defeat, was a sure fire way of reigniting their desire to fight.

"You don't know any magic at all." The accusation was only met with an expectant stare. The force and confidence of the other boy made Altair's own confidence waver. He clenched his fist and tried again. "Prove it then!"

"Are you declining?"

"Yes!" Black finally spat out with livid eyes and a deep blush. "Of course I decline. So go on then, prove it!"

With a small, triumphant smile Tom sat back down. "No."

There was a laugh from somewhere down the carriage, and in a second the others tables were chatting amongst themselves again, clearly having gotten the message 'show's over.'

"What? So you _were_ lyingBlack wasn't backing down just yet though. In fact Tom's sitting down seemed to have triggered him somehow.

"No, I wasn't lying." Tom said lightly, taking the cards from the table to shuffle, and making a display of how bored he was with this conversation.

"Then you have to prove it!" Lestrange called. There had been a glint in Riddle's eye that said he was telling the truth, and Cyrille felt pretty disappointed he wasn't.

"I don't feel I need to prove anything. I'm not a monkey, here for your amusement."

"Nah, you're full of it. Admit you're lying or prove you aren't." Black paused to look at the cards moving deftly in Riddle's hand. "Or I'll tell Aquila you called her vacuous!"

Tom gave him a look. "Really? You're going to tell big sister on me?" He shook his head before nodding to the empty seat beside Claude, "Sit down Black. Let's have a game of cards."

Charles hadn't sat back down yet. Tom was looking down to deal four hands, and so Charles couldn't relax until he knew for sure Black wasn't going to do anything stupid.

Altair clenched and unclenched his fists several times as he watched the cards fly out with precision and ease. He hated this jumped up little mudblood, but he couldn't help but feel a little respect too: when faced with a challenge he couldn't hope to win, he'd upped the ante and bluffed, forcing his opponent to back down. Altair had walked away from a fight he couldn't lose - he'd even said he didn't want the fight when he had been the one to start it!

With a soft exhale, Altair released some of the tension in his body and sat down. "You're definitely going to be in Slytherin."

"We both are." Charles corrected with a relieved breath, before following his example.

Black threw up his nose. "Well, if you are going to be in Slytherin, you'll have to learn a few other games." He told them pompously, already trying to re-establish his superiority. He looked across and shared a look with his friends. The fact they weren't shouting objections about two mudbloods in the Snake Pit suggested they'd seen something in Riddle too. They would have to see whether he could back up his claims when classes started.

The rest of the train ride was relatively calm. To Tom's mild disappointment the other boys mostly just messed about. Unsurprisingly, Charles was quick to join in, where Tom chose to keep his input to a polite minimum, because he would really rather have not had to deal with them at all. He was grateful to have Charles here to do all the work - Charles could be his Trojan Horse.

Charles decided he quite liked his new classmates, though they could be stuck up and condescending in a way he'd never had to deal with before. They spoke of things like magic and money like they were throw away commodities, yet looked down on Charles and Tom for not having had them. They were careful not to be outright mean, but they were, even unintentionally. Family and holidays and possessions were spoken of with little care, as though they weren't things Tom and Harry had craved all their lives.

Black introduced them to wizard's chess, and Fitzwilliam taught them how to play gobstones (Tom refused to play). They learned there were currently four Blacks attending Hogwarts, and another would be starting next year, which only reinforced Charles relief that there was now a tenuous civility between Tom and Altair. When the trolley lady came round Claude bought them a few different types of sweets to try, which Tom accepted with mild curiosity, leaving Charles to say thank you.

They got a lot of strange looks, and were frequently spoken down to for not knowing something (and Charles thought the others enjoyed speaking down to him and Tom), but all in all, the journey had gone well, so when they arrived in Hogsmeade, Charles wasn't too worried about being sorted into Slytherin.

 **Xx** **Love to all who are sticking with me!**


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